


The Difference

by SomeSunnyDay



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeSunnyDay/pseuds/SomeSunnyDay
Summary: A juxtaposition between Scriabin's way around day to day activates and how he lives now, then he eventual conclusion he likes his new arrangement.(Zarla-Verse fic.)
Relationships: Edgar Vargas/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	The Difference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zarla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/gifts).



> So this one was written in one go because I had an idea that Scriabin would probably get chronic headaches because he's not used to his body and its limits. The comparison from when he was with Edgar before came on with the thought of no matter how he made the space in Edgar's head, it wouldn't be the same. Deja vu is somewhat used here, I just hope it made sense.

So he’s established a lot of things, his inner world is empty of other people but that was the price to pay. Edgar would never understand what he does behind the scenes. He lays on the bed in the room he made for himself. The sheets were cold, and the pillows flat. He rolled on his side, sighing. There was a sense of poor imitation, since the sheets would always feel brand new and never slept in, the pillows would always feel untouched and uncomfortable. The room, no matter how he made it, would always be fake.    
  
Scriabin got up and put on his coat. That was the only thing that felt real, and he hated it. He was surrounded by a soft feeling of half assed pseudo space. At least he could stand it for a little. He just wished it wasn’t so empty, but again, that was the price.    
  
He put on his boots and fixed his hair, the string was getting tangled. He had to get Edgar up soon. He’s been oversleeping again.   
\--

Scriabin was jolted awake, Edgar was shaking his arm slightly.   
  
“Hey, time to get up, Todd has a project he needs help on when he gets home, and I need your help making his lunch for tomorrow.”   
  
Scriabin moved his head to the side, Edgar’s pillows always smelled like Old Spice. He moved his arms against the sheets, worn but comfortable. Edgar helped him up and rubbed his back, he’s been oversleeping and his ribs aren’t liking it. He felt Edgar kiss his head, his hair was very messy and he needed to brush it soon.    
  
“Alright, come on..” Edgar moved to help Scriabin, his voice soft. Scriabin could feel everything, and he will never get used to the feeling of being as real as he is now. He wiped his face as his hair fell in front of his eyes, his skin felt waxy and gross. He needs a shower. He looked over to Edgar, his vision is getting worse. Through the blur, he saw Edgar move slowly, the stance he had was written with exhaustion. Scriabin feels bad.   
  
As he gets up and goes over to the drawer for clean socks, he stumbles, he’s had this headache on and off for a few days.   
\--   
Scriabin reached to feel the scars, pushing Edgar’s glasses up. He keeps forgetting how they feel, since he’s only really taken full control a few times thus far. He rubs his hands together, an unconscious movement at first, then he stops. Skin to him feels odd. Uncomfortable. He puts Edgar’s glasses back in place and reaches for his coat. Even though it’s not very cold, it’s familiar.    
  
After he gets ready the rest of the way, he steps outside with ease, he’s got the hang of this now. Down the steps, turn left, go to the car, drive to work. He gets in the car, and he knows how to drive, he’s just annoyed at having to go is all. Shaky hands grip the wheel and shift out of park. He knows how to go to work, how many stops to take, how many miles to go on each road. He stops the car before he can fully pull out of the space. He takes a breath. He’s just not used to coffee.   
  
He runs his hand through his hair; self soothing. He’s fine. He’ll get to work in one piece. He leans over and picks a random disc from the glove department and lowers the volume, pressing shuffle and settling back into the seat. Tool comes through the speakers. He was surprised that Edgar didn’t throw that one away. He took a second, then started the car again.   
  
“.. _ Saw that gap today, while you were begging me to stay. Take care not to make me enter, if I do we both may disappear. Know that I will choke until I swallow, choke this infant here before me. What is this but my reflection? Who am I to judge or strike you down?.. _ ”   
  
Scriabin sighed, work was going to be slow, hopefully if he gets everything done soon he can go home before his shift ends. Looking for passing cars, he saw a kid and his mom crossing the road, he had a balloon and she was holding a box of ice cream. Scriabin looked back to the road, maybe Edgar could use something like candy from the store.    
  
He messed with his hair again, and took a breath. Drive to work and get it over with.   
\--   
After Scriabin got his shoes on, Edgar came up behind him and directed his attention to a box by the kitchen, “That’s all your stuff from the car, I want you to grab a disc so I can put batteries in the player I found.”   
  
Scriabin nodded, he rubbed his temples and got up. Grabbing a random disc from the stack, he quickly got out the door to follow Edgar to the car. As he sat down in the back seat, he looked at the disc to put in the player. Tool was put in the player and a headset was given. He pressed shuffle.   
  
Looking out the window, he saw a lady and her son carrying groceries across the walkway. Something familiar struck him then. He thought about it all the way to the elementary school, when they got there to pick Todd up, still no dice on placing the deja vu. He pulled the headset off to greet Todd, and as he helped him get buckled in, Schmee started talking.   
  
“ **Hey kid.** ” he whispered.   
  
Scriabin pet Todd’s head, and put the headset back on. He focused, talking this way was extremely difficult now.   
  
“What.” Scriabin folded his leg over his knee and messed with the player’s buttons.   
  
“ **I think you should get those headaches checked out.** ”   
  
Scriabin’s face twitched and he stopped fidgeting. “I’m fine.”   
  
“ **Pretty soon you’ll get nosebleeds if you don’t get it looked at, chronic headaches are manageable.** ”   
  
He looked out the window again, “They’re not chronic now shut up.”

  
After that Schmee catered to Todd.   
\--   
Scriabin fell onto the bed after he shucked off Edgar’s work clothes. He wasn’t sure how long he’ll be able to do this without Edgar’s input. He hates admitting it but doing all of this is hard and exhausting. No wonder Edgar’s energy is always gone, his work takes all of it.    
  
Scriabin had to adjust to the fact that Edgar is not a social creature, never has been. It’s annoying sometimes, because Scriabin definitely is. He takes off Edgar’s glasses and covers himself in the sheet, Old Spice drowns freshly washed pillow cases. He goes back into his pseudo room and he groans. It’s even worse in here. The boredom and restlessness. He sits up and sighs. Making those string puppets can work to pass the time while he waits for Edgar to get back up.   
\--   
Scriabin is the last to get inside the house and as he turns to lock the door, he gets small blotches in his vision. He tries to ignore it but the tensing in his neck and heat in his ears makes walking hard. What brings him down to the floor is the immense pressure on the top of his head; like someone was actively pushing down on him. He feels hands on him and the pressure dissipates. He looks up to see Edgar’s worried expression. Todd is standing with Schmee and he knows Schmee is saying  **I told you so** .   
  
“Scriabin? Can you hear me?” Edgar lightly brought him to sit up against his chest.   
  
Scriabin nodded, and Edgar helped him up, “Are you getting sick?”   
  
Scriabin was about to brush it off but Todd spoke first, “Schmee said Mr. Scriabin is getting chronic headaches.”   
  
Edgar looked over to Todd, and back to Scriabin, “I think we should go see a doctor.” He led Scriabin to the room and sat him down, and at that point, Scriabin couldn't find any other option.   
\--   
Scriabin was woken up, the bright lights of the hospital parking lot were making his headache worse. Edgar got him out slowly and he was guided inside.    
  
After an evaluation and 800 mg ibuprofen, Scriabin was helped into the car. Edgar sighed when he sat back in the driver's seat. “So were you going to tell me before or after you almost split your head open?”   
  
Scriabin was too tired to be defensive. “Was hoping it’d go away.”   
  
Edgar softened his tone, “Scriabin..you should’ve said something.”    
  
Scriabin curled into himself and groaned. Edgar started to drive. When they got home Edgar helped Scriabin out of the car and put him in bed.    
  
“The doctor said he’d prescribe Butalbital, and it’d come in tomorrow. Just get some sleep and in the morning I’m getting you an eye appointment.” Edgar said as he tucked Scriabin in. Scriabin only gave a short huff in response.    
  
Edgar was about to leave until Scriabin asked, “Why am I not happy?”   
  
Edgar moved to sit next to Scriabin, “What do you mean?”   
  
Scriabin rolled over to face Edgar, “I thought once I had a body of my own, instead of puppeteering yours, I’d be happy and everything would be easy.”   
  
Edgar slowly pet Scriabin’s head, “Sometimes things don’t go the way we want, and I know you know that. You’re used to my body, not yours. Learning the way your body responds to things is important, like how I can’t push myself too hard otherwise my asthma comes up. Boundaries. Look, until you get used to it, it’ll feel like pulling teeth. There’s no way around that. If you want, I can get you an appointment for a physical therapist so we can see where your body is in terms of tolerance, sound good?”

  
Scriabin nodded, right now he just wanted Edgar to continue petting him. He held Edgar’s arm to stay in place and Edgar chuckled quietly, “Ok ok..” and had Scriabin let go of his arm to continue petting. He placed a few kisses here and there, Scriabin liked those. When he felt himself drift off, he held Edgar’s hand.   
\--   
Scriabin got up, and he helped Todd with his project. Edgar eventually came home with his meds and made dinner. Scriabin felt better after taking the Butalbital, and he could think clearly again. Schmee gave him small encouragements, and he appreciated those.    
  
When he and Edgar settled in bed, Edgar held him and pet his head. He fell asleep to the smell of Old Spice and the feeling of welcomed hands on him. He wasn’t used to his body, and he knows it’ll take a while to adjust. It’s a nice development, even if things weren’t exactly the same. He was given a second chance, and even if he’s struggling, he knows he has people to go to when he’s unwell.    
  
He knows the effort he made didn’t go to waste.


End file.
